Diamond Mind
by Fidelis Haven
Summary: Diamonds do not break. They endure. And so will she." The thoughts of Bellatrix Lestrange in Azkaban, just prior to the ending of GoF.


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Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J.K.Rowling. I've got two and a half years of student loan hanging around my neck, so feel free to sue. You may (if you're lucky) get one of the bottle tops masquerading as silver coinage in my money box.

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Acknowledgments: The title's actually a Rasputina song, the content of which is … not particularly relevant. And Faith Accompli is excellent at pointing out Dumb Things Wot I Have Done.

Diamond Mind

The most beautiful, most brilliant object known to man. Dazzling, sparkling, but more importantly than that, diamonds are hard. From the Greek, adamas, meaning indestructible. Diamonds do not _break_. They endure. And so will she.

She has comforted herself with this time and time again, pressing her back against the cold stone wall. She has learned to love the chill, to embrace it. If she wills it strongly enough, it might sink beneath her skin and turn her insides to precious, precious stone. Stilling the dark fire burning deep within, the quick temper so easy to rouse, so attractive to the ever-hungry gliding guards of Azkaban.

Diamonds are created by almost unimaginable pressures, far, far below the surface of the earth. Down where witches fear to tread, but she has never been afraid of anything, and _will_ never be afraid of anything. When _they_ come, she shuts her eyes and thinks of slow moving dark earth. Recites from memory what she had learned, years ago, her voice rough as coal. _There is no guarantee that these carbon atoms will turn into diamonds. If the temperature rises or the pressure drops then the diamond crystals may melt partially or totally dissolve_.

Not entirely reassuring, but Bellatrix has always made the best of what was available. The weak will fall, the strong survive. She has always hated weakness. She hates Azkaban, and what the Dementors do. But she can turn this weakness to strength. She has always believed in her own strength of mind. What she wills, will be. This is her confinement. This is meant to be her punishment. She will make it her purification. She doubts her definition of the word would correspond with the Ministry's. That amuses her, deep down, but she will not let it show.

A long, slow process, Severus had said, explaining the process of diamond formation for her. Long ago, that was. _The owner of a diamond owns a piece of history_. He'd had a beautiful turn of phrase, had known it would appeal to her. _They came from stars. From the dust of dying stars. _He'd said that to her once, his voice low, his lips warm against her neck.

Bellatrix Black. Dark star, black diamond. His fingertips were dry, callused. Rough against her skin, like the stone here, only warmer. Much warmer. She wonders briefly, from time to time, whether he was in some cell not too far from her own. Or whether he'd gone underground after – after that night –

She did not dwell on such thoughts, her mind veering away until the Dementors returned to scour her for more. That way lay madness, and she had seen too many here fall victim to that imperfection, crying out for their lost master, or perhaps their mothers. Useless. Flawed vessels, all of them. Cracked. She alone would be intact when the time came for them to leave. Changed, yes, but intact. The sweet consolations of insanity would not serve her, nor her master. Clarity was the key.

She supposes she will be here in Azkaban, her underworld, her hell, for rather a lot longer than she'd hoped. _We will wait_, she'd said once, but she has long since lost track of time. She exists outside of time. She does not allow herself to hope when she thinks of the future, the Dementors will strip it away from her instantly. She does not look back at the past. She looks at her wedding ring, admires the stone. The way it catches the light, even here, even with so little light. She is not so much waiting as she is crystallizing. Her patience is infinite. This is the way the earth works.

She sits, thinks about stones. Feels the warmth within her turn to ice.

Feels her Mark burn. Beautiful, blistering. Wonders if she has fallen, despite her best efforts, into madness, hallucination. Hears the hoarse laughter of her husband in the next cell, echoed by others deep within the heart of darkness. Raises her own voice to join the heady, maddening cacophony. It's real. It's real.

He has risen. And he will come for us.

She can't help laughing, can't suppress the sudden intoxicating surge of joy. She is still laughing when the Dementors come to feed upon her, because this is what she has been waiting for, what they have all been waiting for, trapped here where time works differently – and she never lost faith, never gave in. There is nothing the Dementors can do to take this from her. She did not break, and now she _will_ not.

The most beautiful, most brilliant object known to man.

(_She'd been Severus' black diamond, her awkward, clumsy pet always so eager to please. Didn't love you enough to follow you here, did he?_)

Dazzling, sparkling, but more importantly than that, diamonds are hard.

(_Vicious, hard faced cow!_ Andomeda. Aged fourteen. _You're sick._)

From the Greek, adamas, meaning indestructible.

(_A child! A fucking child, destroy the Dark Lord? You're lying. Tell us! Tell me where he is!_)

Almost unimaginable pressures.

(_Don't think, don't feel. Don't break._)

Diamonds do not break.

(_You've never cared about anyone but yourself. I disgust you? _I_ disgust _you?) 

Diamonds do not break.

_(Andromeda again. You disgust me. Both of you. Always Andromeda at the end. I wish you were both dead. I have no sisters.)_

They endure.

_(It will not be long. He is risen. He is risen indeed.)_

And so will she.


End file.
